


Puella In Somnio

by AndyAO3



Series: Teddy Shepard Is A Little Shit [5]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Maybe a little angst, Miranda barely puts up with his shenanigans, Ted's a weird little shit, but humor mainly, silliness and fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAO3/pseuds/AndyAO3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even Miranda doesn't really know what to do with the contrary little bastard. Just wake her up when it's over, yeah?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. conturbatio

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy folks! Figured I should post the bits I've got written of this three-part side bit, because it never fails to amuse me just how perplexed and annoyed Miranda is by Ted. Also I wanted to flesh out some things that don't really matter to anyone but myself.
> 
> Yes, it'll be three parts. No, the third part is not finished. I'm working on it.
> 
> Imagine this bit taking place just after Chapter 4 of TWiTD.

On paper, she had memorized every aspect of who the Commander was: white hair, grey eyes, 157.5cm, ESTP (assertive variant). A decorated war hero who had started from nothing, earning every scrap of prestige he had. She had made a note of every single one of the numerous blips in his record, from fights to reprimands to insubordination to criminal charges. She had read every last file found in his medical records, and committed every detail of every surgery and every injury to memory.

In short, Miranda Lawson had been fairly confident in saying she knew what kind of man Theodore "Ted" Shepard was.

She had been very, very mistaken.

"Yo, Miranda! I can call you that, right? Anyway. Quick question!"

Miranda exhaled quietly through her nose, keeping her posture straight and her smile pleasant as she looked up from her laptop to the pale, scarred man standing in her doorway. Shepard's hair was an unkempt mess, far from the slicked-back professional look he had in Alliance vids. His posture was lazy, and yet even that laziness managed to look like an act of defiance. And rather than the carefully fitted Cerberus fatigues he'd been provided with, he was wearing a loose sleeveless shirt and Blasto-patterned flannel pants, with the bottom hem of the latter having been rolled to make up for his short legs.

He also wasn't wearing shoes, having opted instead to go about his business on the ship while completely barefoot. She didn't even want to begin thinking about how unsanitary that was.

"Yes, Commander?" she asked, her tone careful and measured.

"Will the skin grafts get zits?"

She blinked. And as she processed the question, she blinked again. "...I'm sorry, what?"

"Zits. Acne. Blocked pores and hair folicles leading to swelling and a buildup of white blood cells to the affected area--"

"I know what acne is, Shepard," she said. It came out just a little more sharp and snappish than she'd meant for it to, and she could tell from Shepard's ghost of a smirk that he knew he was irritating her. The fact that he was being absurd on purpose just to get a reaction somehow managed to annoy her even more, but she shifted in her chair, straightened her shoulders, and went back to smiling anyway.

The contrary part of her didn't want to give the contrary part of him the satisfaction of knowing he had an edge.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious."

Miranda was already feeling exasperated, and they weren't even that far into the conversation yet. "You sweat, you bleed, you blush, you can even get blisters. Apart from the synthetic weave meant to strengthen the deeper layers of your skin, your skin is still effectively human skin, grown from your own cells."

"So that's a yes?"

"That would be a yes," she confirmed with a nod, feeling herself relax a little at the thought that he might leave her alone. "Will that be all?"

Shepard reached up to scratch thoughtfully at one of the scars on his left cheek, near his eye. Miranda reflected that they probably wouldn't have been nearly as much of a problem had Shepard not taken his helmet off when he'd been spaced; the amount of reconstructive surgery that had been necessary to rebuild everything had been extensive to say the least, and a significant portion of his face was being held together with cybernetics.

Which were being rejected by his immune system, much like his records had said the implants in his heart had been. Really, even if they'd cloned Shepard and scrapped the Lazarus Project entirely, the amount of work that would have needed to be done to bring the clone's health up to some sort of acceptable baseline - whether through genetic manipulation or cybernetic augmentation - would have been almost as extensive and just about half as expensive, with no guarantee of effectiveness either. Shepard was just that much of a mess.

After thinking on the question for a moment, Shepard gave a little noncommittal shrug and turned away from her. "Yeah, I think that about covers it, thanks." He waved without looking behind himself, before shoving his hands in the pockets of his ridiculous flannel pants. "See you later, XO Lawson."

As he left, Miranda had to fight hard against the urge to tell him to put on some bloody shoes.


	2. decretum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's back. Again. Whyyyy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit shorter, but descriptors and such weren't as necessary and there was no need to drag any of it out at all. 
> 
> This one happens somewhere in the realm of chapters 6 and 7 of TWiTD.

A week after the first time Shepard had barged into her office, Miranda was visited by him again. Completely out of the blue, much like the first time.

Almost before she could hear him, she could smell him; he tended to smell like cheap, strong soaps most of the time, the sort that one could buy in bulk. Economic, but not at all to Miranda's liking. The smell was strong enough that Miranda could tell he'd just come out of the shower even before she looked up from her desk and noted that his hair was still somewhat wet and his oversized shirt was half-clinging to his damp skin.

She pressed her lips together tightly to stop herself from expressing her distaste. What a slob.

He also had a fairly sizeable welt on his forehead. While she wanted to believe that it was from something mundane like slipping in the shower, she had a sneaking suspicion that it was from butting heads with the Krogan down in the hold. Literally.

Ugh.

"Miranda!" He looked pleased to see her; she forced a thin smile for the sake of politeness. "Got another question, if you have a minute."

Of course, Shepard didn't actually care whether or not she had a minute. Everything he did was on his time, and he expected people to simply make time for him whenever he decided to waltz in. Regardless of whether it was convenient or not, Shepard seemed to think himself above the whole notion of people doing things that were more important than his idle whims.

If Shepard hadn't proven himself to be a frighteningly effective leader, Miranda would probably have been very cross with the Illusive Man. As things stood though, she had to admit that the man was more than competent enough at his job (and with his biotics) to justify his continued service.

It didn't change anything about Miranda having to put up with his madness, however. Nor did it change the fact that Commander Shepard was an absolute twat. "Very well," she said evenly, putting the datapad she'd been working on back on her desk and resting her elbows on the clean surface. "Ask away."

"Sweet!" Shepard clapped his hands together. "This one'll be quick, I swear."

She really didn't believe that. "You haven't told me what it is yet," she pointed out calmly.

"Well yeah, I know. I'm getting to it." He seemed annoyed at the interruption for the briefest moment before he cleared his throat and continued. "Do I still have to worry about, like, carcinomas and junk?"

Miranda's brows drew together. "I thought I answered this."

"No, you answered the question about zits. Skin cancer is different."

"I meant that it's still your skin, Shepard. For all of the weaves and cybernetics, we still grew it from your own cells. I told you as much before."

"Soooo..." Shepard blinked owlishly. "That's a yes."

" _Yes_ , it's still a concern," she said. Some days it felt like she was talking to a wall. "But one so easily mitigated by how frequently Chakwas performs her scans and a quick round of laser treatment that I'm not sure why you're asking?"

His hands came up in a defensive gesture. "Hey, I was curious. No need to get all snarky with me."

Miranda leveled a very unenthused look at him, before slowly straightening in her chair and tipping her head up with a false smile. "Well. Now that you have your answer, I should be getting back to work." She was letting him get under her skin far too much. "If you have no further questions...?"

The former Alliance soldier considered for a minute, shrugged and turned on his heel. Just as before. "Nope. That'll be all, XO Lawson."

"Commander," she acknowledged with a small nod, watching him leave with nothing more to offer her than a casual wave.

The smell of that damned cheap soap lingered in her room for a while afterward, and she was more than a little tempted to order that the ship's entire supply of it be jettisoned.


	3. desiderium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when she thinks she understands, Shepard surprises her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to post this until after the Tuchanka chapters, but they're just going too slowly and I don't want to leave this as a WIP when this chapter's already finished and ready to be posted.
> 
> Miri. Miri do you have a crush.

Weeks passed, and Miranda's opinion of Shepard began to change.

His handling of Horizon was remarkable. His careful planning allowed for contingencies that Miranda would never have thought of, and when the circumstances changed he never let it catch him off-guard for more than a few moments. And while there were injuries - Shepard himself was knocked out of action for a few days because he'd overworked his biotics - the entire  _Normandy_ crew came out of it relatively unscathed, while the blow dealt to the Collectors had them actually fleeing the colony. 

It was a victory, and a big one at that. Except, not for Shepard. Because it was after Horizon that Miranda began to notice that for all the progress they'd made, their leader's strength was flagging.

At first it wasn't all that obvious. Miranda had more important things on her mind, such as her sister's safety. However, once that was taken care of, she had little else to keep her mind occupied beyond her duties as the XO, and that led to spending quite a bit of time trying to puzzle out Shepard's motives as he helped people with exactly what they asked for help with - nothing more, nothing less - and asked for nothing in return except their loyalty and trust.

And he got that loyalty - even hers! - because he always made it a choice for people instead of demanding it. He earned respect by never expecting it of anyone and never acting like he was entitled to it. It was one more odd thing about Shepard in a whole long list of odd things that never quite seemed to make sense to her.

Just after the mission on the Collector ship, Miranda thought she had her answer. After all, Shepard had fractured his arm to protect Miss Goto, with a technique that could've killed him. The answer seemed obvious at the time; Shepard clearly had something to fight for. That would be a good enough motivation for any man.

Then she confronted him on it and realized that the solution to the puzzle was far more complicated, while somehow being more simple at the same time: Shepard already had something to fight for. He had since Horizon, and possibly even before that. It had been taken away from him.

Shepard fought because he was royally pissed off, and his friends were the last thing that he had to lose.

\---

The third time Shepard came into Miranda's office unannounced was only a few weeks after the first two, yet it seemed like a lifetime ago to her. Partly because of how much he had changed in her estimation, and partly because he seemed to have aged in that short span of time. He wore his full armor save for his helmet, smelling of sweat and eezo and the acrid soil of Tuchanka, and he wasn't smiling.

He walked in with deadly calm borne of purpose and dropped a datapad unceremoniously on her desk, a faint smear of dirt visible on the screen from his gauntlets. "Did you know about this?" he asked.

Miranda eyed the datapad warily for a moment, hesitant to take it. When she did, her first instinct was to brush it off; Shepard's patience as he waited for her to do so spoke volumes about how much he'd matured.

Or maybe it was an indication of just how grim the information on that datapad was. She took a final wary glance at him before turning her attention to the still-dirty screen.

"Progressive neural degeneration," Miranda said aloud after a pause, arching a brow. "This is about Jack."

"Jack has the L5x implants, Miri." It was the first time he'd called Miranda that; hearing the nickname from him momentarily stunned her enough for it to take a second to actually register what he was saying as he reached up to tap a finger to his forehead. "The same ones Cerberus gave me."

Miranda nodded slowly as she processed his words, gently setting the notepad down. "I see. You're asking if you're at risk for the same sort of thing."

Shepard didn't smile, didn't get that satisfied grin he sometimes had when Miranda finally followed his twisted threads of logic to their conclusions. At the same time, he wasn't angry either. He simply nodded, eyeing her coldly and impassively.

It unnerved her immensely, but she was careful not to show any tension in her posture; it felt like the calm moment before a monsoon, and frankly she'd rather not be caught in Shepard's eventual storm surge. "I assume you've had scans done to determine whether or not such a process has already begun?"

"It hasn't," Shepard said, confirming her assessment. "Not yet."

"Then for the moment we continue under the assumption that it won't." Miranda allowed herself a moment's relief, resting her elbows on the desk and steepling her fingers. "Jack is a special case, after all; we can't know how much of the damage is caused by the implants themselves and how much is caused by the experiments done at the rogue facility on Pragia, and that isn't even factoring in the physical and mental trauma she reportedly went through."

Shepard's cold mask gave way to a faint sneer. "That sounds like a whole lot of technical bullshit and pointless jargon to me. Why not just give it to me straight and admit you don't know?"

"Shepard, what do you want me to say?" She was getting tired of him, and especially his knack for getting to the heart of a matter. "Would you rather I tell you that Cerberus upgraded your biotic implants to a model that's too close to the cutting edge for there to have been clinical trials proving its safety?"

"If it's the truth? Yes." He gave her a pointed look. "Is it?"

She scoffed. "It's the most I can give you without resorting to speculation and guesswork."

"Then guess," he told her. When she only stared at him incredulously, he rolled his eyes. "You're smart. I trust you to know your shit. What's your professional opinion?"

"My  _professional_ opinion," she began, fully prepared to tell him off and throw some snippy comeback in his face in return for all the times he'd been an absolute cretin. But then she stopped, and frowned, and brought her hands up to lean her chin against them as she considered. 

Progressive neural degeneration? Miranda considered the location of the implants, the implications of constant overuse and feedback. She thought about Jack's age, and the slight tremors in the younger woman's hands that never seemed to completely go away.

"...Ten years at the outset before you begin to show symptoms," Miranda eventually said, her voice having gone soft. Because she was imagining Shepard with those tremors that would turn to pain and numbness and loss of motor control, and to think of the man as a cripple who couldn't walk without assistance was a thing that hurt to visualize. "Maybe less. We can't know for sure. If you're careful, you might be able to put it off for a while longer."

"Huh." Shepard nodded, getting a knot in his brow as he mulled it all over. "So that means decent amps and no overextending myself?"

"Right." There he was, totally calm about it. And not the false calm of a brewing storm either; it was much closer to a true calm that came from acceptance. "I should note that this is all purely hypothetical, however. We don't know for certain whether or not your implants will act up as much as Jack's have, or if the implants are even the problem."

That was when the smile came back, although Shepard's amusement seemed bitter. "So long as I'm still, y'know, capable of thought? Still better prospects than I had before you came along."

"I don't think your mental faculties will be affected-- hang on." Miranda did a double take and cocked her head to peer at him curiously. "Was that a compliment?"

He merely shrugged. "Why not? It's not like I had much of a shelf life to begin with before this."

Only after he left her office did Miranda notice that she was blushing.


End file.
